Save Me, Please!
by Jabberwocky92
Summary: Now a two-shot He was going to end his life, but a shoe falling behind him caused him to meet a young figure with the same goal. Each facing their demons on the last night of their lives, do they take the plunge or will this be a night where his ledger isn't filled with another page of red? Angst, Hurt and comfort feature in this story. Rated T for Suicidal Themes.
1. Chapter 1

The lights of the city were blinding to him, the noise almost painful as he walked down the street, trying to avoid attention with his hands shoved in his pockets and his hood drawn up over his head. He could almost feel the blood on his skin, even though it had been washed away hours ago, he still heard the screams of pure terror ringing in his ears as if he had only just heard them.

The fog seemed to be as thick as his memories and depression tonight, swirling around the manholes like steam rising off freshly made bread, though they only promised darkness and death to those who decided to enter them. The thought of crawling down one of the holes and vanishing from the world almost over took him as his feet slowly stepped from the curb and made their way to one, only to be stopped by something falling behind him.

Instantly his instincts kicked in and he spun around, fists raised and ready to strike out at what had startled him, his breathing came in rugged gasps as he tried to calm his panic down, his eyes darting up and down the street. Finally he had calmed down enough to find that a shoe had landed on the ground, frowning as he picked it up he looked towards the sky, his mouth opening in a small 'O' of surprise as he saw a figure with their feet dangling over the edge, bathed in moonlight like a Gothic piece of art come to life.

His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the figure, they didn't even seem to notice that they had lost a shoe. He knew that this part of town was renowned for having jumpers almost every week, perhaps that is why he had traversed the alleyways and found himself there, perhaps he was to become just another statistic on the cities raising suicide rate. He was going to keep walking when he found himself walking towards the door of the building, something pulling him towards the figure.

He had killed so many, yet he felt like if he saved just one then his life would be worth something, but even if he didn't save them, he could at least let their last moments of life not be lonely ones. Taking the stairs three at a time, he prayed that he would get their in time, getting to the door and pushing it open, he was greeted by the sight of the figure still sitting on the edge of the building, looking out towards the lights of Stark tower.

Their short hair billowed around their face, their arms wrapped around themselves as they fought against the chilly Autumn wind in their thin shirt. Moving towards them, he stopped dead when they turned around, the face of a young woman with tear stained cheeks stared back at him, her eyes empty as she slowly turned back around and looked at the city once more.

Taking it as a hint that she wasn't going to jump if he came closer, he moved to sit next to her, bringing his legs over the edge of the building as well, ignoring the swoop in his stomach as his bodies internal 'HOLY SHIT THIS IS DANGEROUS!' way of thinking kicked in. "Would you like my jacket?" He asked, glancing at her when she scoffed.

"I'm sitting on the edge of a building at midnight and you ask me if I wish your jacket?" She shook her head before pausing and nodding, mumbling thank you as he wrapped the thick leather jacket around her shoulders. "Why are you here? One of those weird people who get off on death?"

"No... I've seen enough death in my life to not be affected by it." He looked out across the city again, ignoring her small sobs as her tears started to fall again. "I was thinking of doing the same thing tonight, but I don't want to do it alone... I thought I would come up here, seeing as you were already here."

"You want to die together?" The girl asked, staring at him once again like he was completely mad. "Normally people would come up here and tell me that life is worth living and all that bullshit we tell ourselves each day to keep going."

"Life is bullshit, isn't it? Get to many scars and you find the only way out is fourteen floors of falling and then concrete... How old are you, kid?"

"I am not a kid, I'm twenty!"

"What has a twenty year old seen that makes them want to end their life? Mummy and daddy not letting you date the twenty nine year old guy with a motorbike and tattoos? Don't give me that look, you're about to end your life, I can ask what questions I like."

"No. I just give up at this pathetic game of life..." Her hands shook as she brought the jacket around her more before glancing at him once again. "I've suffered since I was sixteen, I can't go on any more. I am so sick of breaking down and having to put the pieces back together again. You never realise just how evil the mind can be until it unleashes itself on you." She swung her legs, making him chew his lower lip in slight fear that she would let herself fall, but she stayed where she was sitting and started to speak once again.

"Bullying is something everyone goes through, so why am I the one that got Post Traumatic-Stress Disorder from it? Why am I the one in constant pain as my body decides to attack itself from my stress? God, you don't care, you are only up here so that you are not alone before you kill yourself."

He watched as she chewed on her lower lip, pulling it in to her mouth and then letting it go, dragging her teeth over it until a small spot of blood appeared on its cracked surface.

"I have it too." He said, making her stare at him. "PTSD, I know what you are talking about. The flashbacks, the phantom pains, the nightmares... People looking at you like you are crazy when you go in to a panic over something as simple as a slammed door."

"I still feel the bubblegum in my hair, even after I cut my hair short..." She whispered, running her fingers through the brown locks.

"I still feel the blood covering my skin even after I've scrubbed myself red and have to be dragged out of the shower." He replied, watching as she scratched the inside of her right arm, scars shone in the moonlight from cuts she had made, some still only half healed and one looking like it was slightly infected.

"She tried to kill me, brought a knife to school and said she was going to stab me. She turned my friends against me and ruined my reputation with a rumour with no truth to it. She bullied other people in to bullying me, half the school was against me at one point, I couldn't walk anywhere without being verbally or physically abused. Nothing was sacred to them, their favourite past time was telling me to hurry up and die to save someone the horror of dealing with me... I still hear them at night when I lie in bed, their voices in my head."

"Whispering the things you don't want to hear, reminding you of every single one of your demons? And the worst part is no one understands it, no one sees the signs because they don't want to. They keep thinking you are fine, that the mumbling in your sleep was their imagination, that the cuts on your body was accidents."

"They don't understand how bad life is to live! When you try and talk to them about it the get angry and snap how they don't see how bad your life is! Your life isn't bad, it's in your head that is bad! And the tablets don't work and the meditation doesn't work, the pain is constantly there from morning to night, you fear everything you hate everything and there is nothing you can do. Nothing works on the anger and the knowledge that they _sent _you there! They _forced _you to go there! And they didn't see it..."

"They never see it, they never see how it destroys you... Yet you don't want them to see it, you don't want them to think you are weak, so you wear a smile and keep going with your life as if nothing is happening. They ask and you lie, oh you get so good at lying you can do it with a straight face now..." He paused, his voice quivering as he found his hands clinging to his pant legs, digging in to the fabric and hitting his skin.

"They say it gets better, but it never does. Until this is the end we all come to..." She whispered, placing her hands on either side of her body and shifting her weight a little, making his breath catch in his throat until she settled down once more. "And then they ask 'Why did they do it?'Their life was never that bad!'How dare they do this to us?' They never see the pain we are in..."

"They never take time to realise what a beast the mind can be."

"It's a trap when you are stuck in it, and it is neigh impossible to get out again."

They sat in silence for what must have been an hour, silent tears slipping down both of their cheeks. "I killed..." He finally whispered, turning to look at her. "I kill for my job, but then it turned against me and I killed good people, without a thought, without a hesitation, I murdered. I have blood on my hands that won't go away with a cuddle and a bed time story. Yet everyone around me thinks it will, they walk on egg shells around me because they fear what I will do if I ever get angry..."

"I can't let the anger out, I try and then I just stop, what's the point? It's not going to help anyone, it's not going to magically let everything be better. It's not going to stop the pain and the heartache of the torture of ones mind to become angry and show people just how bad you are..."

He watched as she took the jacket off and placed it back in his lap, her fingers ghosting over his hand in a small plea to have her hand held, which he gladly did, clinging to her like she was a life line. "Before you do it, do you have a name?"

"Asha." She whispered, squeezing his hand in hers as she stared down at the ground below them. "My name is Asha."

"Clint."

"It's nice to meet you, Clint. Perhaps we will meet again in another life, in another time and another place. Perhaps one more happier then this." She let her fingers slip out of his grasp as she pushed herself off the building, only to stop in her fall from him grabbing her wrist. "let me go!" She snarled, glaring up at him with tears in her eyes. "Please, the pain is to much to bare, let me go!"

"I need a life to save." Clint whispered, pulling her on to the roof once more and letting her fall on top of him, trapping her there with his arms around her, staring up in to his eyes. "I need just one person to save, I don't care how much pain you are in, mine is greater. I need this!"

She sobbed softly against his chest, her whole body shaking as she clung to his shirt, whispering 'It hurts' over and over again, and he held her there, bathed in the moonlight of the cold. New York night as they both cried from the pain that their minds inflicted on one another.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, sunlight spilling on him, he felt a lump pressed in to his side, Asha was asleep under his arm, his coat covering her body and her hand over his heart, clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

With a smile, Clint rested a hand under his head, the feeling that was travelling through his body was a foreign one. Unlike what he felt like after he had taken a life, this feeling was light and almost could pass off as being pride in the fact he had saved someone. Their blood was not on his hands, instead their tears were on his shirt.

"If you hadn't have come, I would have jumped." She whispered, her voice heavy with sleep.

"If I hadn't have found you, so would I." He replied, staring up as the SHIELD helicopter flew over head.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint's rooms in SHIELD had always been bare, and that had not changed since he moved in to Stark Towers, in fact it had gotten worse in some ways. After his experience with Loki, Clint had gotten rid of most of his belongings, only keeping the things he treasured the most locked away in his small room. He had taken up residence, when he was in New York, in the smallest room of Stark Tower, of course it being Tony Stark, the smallest room was still the same size as a one bedroom apartment.

The only furniture in the room was a battered desk that sat against the far wall, its surface covered in overdue paperwork, maps, broken arrow shafts and a Nerf gun that Tony had given him to try and make him 'feel better'. An acoustic guitar lay under the floor to ceiling window that faced out over the Hudson River, a pen and notepad sat next to it, with lyrics scribbled across the first two lines of paper. The infamous nest that he slept in was squished in to the corner, giving him a good view of the whole room, and also enough room to escape out through the air duct if someone attacked the tower. His bow and quiver lay next to it, in perfect reach for any emergency situations (Tony had already been hit by an arrow when he tried to sneak in to Clint's room).

A locked army chest sat in his closet, filled with all his precious memories that were to close to his heart to leave in one of his many nests. His circus outfit, the fabric frayed and the colours darkened with age, his first bow that had snapped in the field of duty, his dog tags and his army uniform, as well as the arrow head from the first arrow that had killed someone in the line of duty for SHIELD.

But amongst Clint's stuff were the tell tale signs of someone else, a hairbrush lay on the desk next to a few hair bands, a dark purple acoustic guitar lay next to his own, a collection of books including the subjects nanotechnology, psychology, physics, cults and Norse mythology were stacked in front of the closet door with a purple jacket thrown over the top of them in a rush and the most tell tale sign was the second group of pillows and blankets that had appeared next to Clint's nest. It had been a week since he had saved Asha and she had saved his own life, and he had all but forced her to move in with him to the Tower, desperately needing her in his everyday life to remind him that yes, he had saved someone that needed saving.

No one understood the reason behind why he clung to her so much, as they pointed out, he had saved Natasha, so what was different with Asha? The difference was that Asha had no blood on her hands, she did not need to be saved because she was a killer, she needed to be saved because the universe had deemed her life to be insignificant when it came to pleasure and enjoyment. He could save Natasha a hundred times, yet she would still get more blood on her hands the next week, it was all she knew how to do and it was what she was good at. But Asha was a blank book, the worst thing that she had ever done in her life was flashed a teacher on a dare (and who hadn't done that?) and her thirst for knowledge didn't seem to have any boundaries as she was constantly bringing in new books that she had taken off Bruce or Tony.

She was the only innocent that he had ever saved as Clint Barton, and for that he would keep her as close to him as she would let him. And as much as Clint kept his room bare of everything but the essentials, Asha's presence in his life was slowly getting him to open up and that was evident by the small thank you letter from a child that he had never met that was pinned to his wall, just above where his head lay at night.

* * *

**This was just a quick second part that I decided to write up to show Clint's feelings about Asha after he had saved her. **

**Jabberwocky.**


End file.
